Isle Fractions
by Umi-chii
Summary: The Leagroves have decided to move to a new place to start a new life. All they want is to settle down, have a peaceful life, away from world's harshness. But they forgot that the undeads aren't part of the world. EDITED
1. 0: Down the Road

**Title: **Isle Fractions

**Fandom:** Rave  
**Disclaimer: **Umi-chii still can't make Hiro Mashima sell Rave.  
**Author's Notes:** The plot bunny was spawned while reading this fic, where Byakuya was described as a fleeting figure. It was further fueled by the memory of watching Supernatural so... this is where I am right now. Besides, I don't think there has been a Rave ghost fic.

* * *

_**0. Down the Road**_

Lucia stared out the car window, chin propped on top of his fist. Beside him in the driver's seat, King hummed a soft tune, probably to that of the rock band Demon Card's.

They'd been on the road for the entire day. A few more hours and the road would be dark. Hopefully enough, they'll arrive at their designated new home before the dark gets them.

_Home. _The word hung too heavy in Lucia's mind.

As the road got bumpier, Lucia recollected his thoughts about the entire decision to move. His stepmother died just two months ago. His father, King, was totally devastated by it.

Lucia didn't really care at first. He is—was never close to her, perhaps likely because she was already the second stranger who married his father after his real mother died. After her burial, a friend of King's called, notifying him about a new house on sale. That was the time when King decided to move to a new place, a new town, wishing to start all over again.

_Yeah. Might as well remarry again, like _last _time, _Lucia thought darkly, before glaring back at all the trees they passed.

The new house was actually located two towns away from their home, Mary Loose. They began traveling yesterday early in the morning, stayed at a cheap hotel for the night, and continued the journey by car the morning after. And now, after a short nap, Lucia counted the number of days it would take his father to realize that moving into a new town was, indeed, a complete pain in the ass.

They had already moved in and out of four towns in his entire seventeen years of living, this last one (hopefully, Lucia prayed. He had enough of this) being the fifth. First was when his father divorced his second wife, Lucia's first stepmother. He was only seven then. The second time was when Lucia got into a fight—rather, a huge brawl of fists and kicks with the neighborhood's kids. That must be the bloodiest moment of his life. He had to stay at the hospital for an entire week after being beaten up by brutes bigger than his frail size. The next one was when his father picked the wrong location (in Ska village, of _all _places) and after the Great Hurricane of 0059, with no house to live in, they decided to move _again_, and this time, to Mary Loose, where King met Emilia. He was already fourteen when he met the sweet and gentle lady. He would have learnt to love her, if only she didn't look down at him with hidden fear and worry. Worry for what, he didn't bother to know. Besides, he was too busy trying to avoid everyone at school.

The car made a screeching noise when it went past a bigger rock, the jump startling Lucia completely awake, back snapping ramrod before turning to glare at his father.

"What the hell is that for?"

"You were thinking bad thoughts."

"Moron," he spat at him.

His father made a low chuckle. A large hand let go of the steering wheel just to ruffle already unruly blond hair. "Whatever you said, kiddo."

Lucia chose to pout and ignore his father. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, except for King's continuous humming of old 40's rock songs.

Parking the car outside an old inn, father and son stepped off the car, shoes landing on rough, dirt road. They both looked around the isolated town. A nagging worry crept up Lucia's mind.

"Dad, are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Well, if that's not a 'Wecome to Garage Town' sign, then I don't know what else it could be. Anyways, it'll be a few more miles of riding before we get to the house. Let's just take a rest here."

Frowning, Lucia followed his father into the ba without another word. Once inside, he grimaced at the sight of old and greasy men loitering around, some unconscious, either from fists or too many drinks.

"Dad…"

"Hush, kiddo."

He scowled at his old man but did so anyway. He couldn't help but flinch when a drunk man with fuzzy beard slumped right in front of him. He was able to avoid it, trained with years of training in dodging flailing bodies, but the side of his arm was touched.

Sidestepping another drunkard, Lucia rushed to his father's side and practically attached himself exactly an inch next to his father.

Behind the bar, a girl barely eighteen was polishing some glasses with a white rug. King pulled out his wallet and slammed a hundred Edel, speaking in that weird Western accent he picked up from staying in the desert in his youth.

"50 for food, the rest for gas."

The girl just looked up at King with a raised eyebrow, which Lucia noticed was pierced and tattooed, before snatching the money and walking away, maybe to call someone else in and do the work.

The moment the woman left, he quickly turned round and left the bar with a soft murmur to his father, the comfort of the car in mind. He didn't care anymore if it was stifling hot inside the car. His sociopathic mind was telling him to get out of there.

The burning hot air of the town only chilled Lucia to the bones despite the black hoodie he had on. Pulling the car door open, he settled himself inside and chose to wait for his father to come back with the supplies.

_"And now I'm slowing it down and I'm looking around…"_

"Dad, stop singing."

_"And worried 'bout noth—_The hell?"

"You were asking for it," Lucia bluntly said, fingers not leaving the radio's switch to make sure his father wouldn't try to switch the damn thing on again. His eyes remained glaring at identical ones opposite him. "I'll go _mad_ if you keep singing."

King snorted at this and turned back to the road, but not after swatting the hand on the radio's switch away and ruffling his son's blond hair.

"Someday, you've gotta learn when to respect your father."

"How can I do that when you don't even respect me?" an almost meek voice asked softly, but before King could get an explanation for that, Lucia had already gone back at the passing trees on his side of the road.

King decided to continue humming his favorite 40's rock music, fingers tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly.

The ride continued on for another ten minutes, until finally they came to a screeching halt outside a black, looming gate.

Eyes wide, Lucia stared at the definitely creepy-looking manor, hands unconsciously clutching the seatbelt.

"Dad, are you _really _sure we're in the right place?"

"Has to be, kiddo," King muttered, eyes also staring at the manor warily.

There was a man waiting for them beyond the gate, waving rather enthusiastically. Lucia was almost expecting some gigantic head burst out of the mansion's door and grab the unsuspecting man in, precisely like those in horror movies.

"I think that's the dude, Dad," King heard his son whispered to him. He grunted in reply and tugged his own seatbelt off its place. "Come on."

Lucia followed reluctantly.

Car doors opening simultaneously, father and son approached the man inside. They jumped a bit when the rusted gate opened on its own accord.

Smiling widely at them, Genma continued waving his hand at the two approaching figures. "Well, howdy, guys. Glad ya can make it all the way here! Neways, gotta make 'is quick. Hafta leave, y'know?"

Nodding slightly, King listened to the man talk while Lucia looks around the mansion, examining its windows and walls with disdain.

"Old Man Sinclair wanna get rid of this ol' house, y'know? No one is alive from that family nemore, so instead of burnin' down hundred o' years o' generations, they thought o' sellin' 'em houses. It's a real pain, y'know? I've gotta sell 'em more than seven houses."

Ignoring the still talking man, Lucia goes back to observing the house. It was then when a sight of fluttering curtains caught his attention, something white caught mid-motion. Stepping closer, his eyes squinted to inspect the second floor window.

Then there it was again. The sudden appearance of something white with an unordinary matte of silver. Blinking rapidly, Lucia rubbed his eyes before looking back at the window, its curtain now not fluttering anymore.

"What the…"

"And that's all there's to know. Hope ya dun get a rowdy time with this lil ol' grandma. She gets cranky at times when some folks settle in."

Grinning back at the countryman, King sidestepped Genma and turned to approach his son.

"Dad, what does he meant by… cranky…?"

"Who knows, kiddo. You know how weird these country folk are."

Shrugging carelessly, King turned and returned to the car, probably to get their luggage. Lucia sighed softly and went back as well, but not after sparing one last look at his new home, spending an extra second at that particular window in the second floor's west wing.

_"They're here."_

A giggle.

_"Here we go again…"_

A sigh.

_"Why don't we make it worth their while?"_

A chuckle. Then silence.

_"…They're _different_."_

Cold lifeless fingers lay atop the window's knob, gazing out at the young blond who was leaving the gates, joining the older man he arrived with.

_"…I think it'll be fun this time."_

The Cheshire grinned.

* * *

**TBC**

_Next chapter: First day of settling down, and Lucia had unknowingly dug up a ghost's grave... and met the furry guardian of the manor?_


	2. 1: Look Up, Not Down

**Title: **Isle Fractions

**Fandom:** Rave  
**Disclaimer: **Umi-chii still can't make Hiro Mashima sell Rave.  
**Author's Notes:** I found an old unbeta-ed file of this chapter with a bracket saying unfinished, typical of some of my Rave fics. When I reopened it, I found the chapter reaching up to the part where King found the Winchester.

* * *

_**1. Look Up, Not Down**_

Up in the attic of the huge mansion, Lucia swore he could hear the cracking of backbones. He had been fiddling around the uppermost level of the manor, looking for stuffs to throw out. Along the way, he had encountered not so friendly housemates; the rodents.

"Oh, go away." He pouted when the little mouse blinked at him, its whiskers twitching, prompting Lucia to pluck the rodent from its perch on the wooden crate in front of him. Before the rodent could voice its protest in its squeaky voice, Lucia threw it out of the attic, through the small hole serving as a door just beside him.

'What's with house pests nowadays anyway?'

He grumbled lowly, cursing the existence of house pests—dust bunnies included. The sound of footsteps coming from below woke him up from his rant, and quickly sitting upright, Lucia turned his head expectantly at the hole. Then the hole's wooden door pushed up, and up came King, still wearing that ridiculous fur jacket of his.

"Look't what I got, kid," The father settled himself on the attic floor, ignoring the dusts littering the entire place. "An authentic Winchester that literally packs a bullet."

Lucia could feel a corner of his cheek twitching in annoyance, as if wanting to sneer at his father. But he resisted this, and decided to ignore his father. Sadly, the other took notice of this. "What? It's a gun. Don't you kids like guns?"

Lucia turned away and snorted.

"I'm not some seven-year-old who plays 'Cowboy', dad."

King stared at his spawn, as Lucia continued unpacking the box in front of him. Maybe growing up without his mother had taken a great toll on the kid more than he had thought. Setting aside the gun, King went to the other corner to leave his son alone. He had already come to realization that there are times when Lucia would want nothing else but solitude. It had made King proud, albeit a little bit, that he's one of the few who knows when to step away when he's son is in need of his own place. The occasional flinch, the twitching of cheeks or eyebrows, the frown… sometimes, his son would just stay quiet in his own corner and ignore him. That was when King would take his cue to leave.

So much like his mother. Only a pity he never grew up knowing her. Yet no matter how many times King had allowed his son to fight his own inner battles, it made him sad that he couldn't do anything but watch in the sidelines, silently encouraging him to go on, because he knew that in the end, his son would always look so forlorn, so hopeless… so _sad_ on his own. King didn't know which one is the right word anymore, in fact.

Silence stretched on inside the attic as Lucian fumbled around closed boxes and locked chests while King began lifting white cloths covering old, worn furniture to see what he can use and what he can throw away. When the father came across a huge mirror hanged on the wall, covered halfway by a dirtied cloth, he stared at it before pulling the rest of the cloth away.

"Hey, dad. I found something…"

The younger blonde stopped when he saw his father staring at the mirror with wide eyes, at the empty reflection the mirror made. Neither of them dared to move an inch or speak a word. So they stayed in their position, stilled.

Until curiosity got the better of Lucia. He left his own corner and approached his father, staring at the mirror as well. Just like his father, Lucia saw no reflection of his own. The only thing he could see coming from the mirror was the portion of the attic behind them, boxes and trunks opened halfway, olds of dirty, white cloths littering the dusty, wooden floor.

When King didn't acknowledge his presence, Lucia tried calling out for his dad again, laying a hand on his shoulder. As if snapping out of a trance, King blinked rapidly, body tensing then slouching as he rubbed his eyes, headache a few steps away.

"What…"

"You okay, dad?"

When Lucia heard a soft 'yes', he pulled away slowly before covering the mirror again with its cloth. "That was weird…" his father said.

"Maybe that's why it's up here."

He didn't wonder further and went back to his corner and forgotten box, even if King left the attic with a pain, contorted face, hand cradling his head. Lucia decided he'll ask questions before going to bed. Or during dinner, whichever seemed right. He just hoped they had managed to pack aspirins along.

Opening the lid of a box, stamped with 'Fragile' on all of its sides, Lucia peered inside it, hands flipping the lids away. Inside the box were a lot of picture frames, envelopes, letters, and what Lucian could guess, a journal along and a few broken shards of mirror and porcelain glass.

Settling into a much comfortable seating position, crossing both of his legs, Lucian began removing the items one by one. He would occasionally stop to study the unknown faces in the pictures or see if any of the envelopes were open. When he had finally reached the journal, brushing away the shards of broken glasses, he stared at its worn leather cover and at the large insignia engraved on it. His fingers padded softly as in awe over cold, faded brass, some portion already black in age. It was in a shape of a cross with two swords crossed over it. He was about to open the journal, until a loud bang bellowed from floors below.

With the journal and its other old companions cast aside, Lucia left the attic and ran down to wherever the sound came from; a voice tells him that the kitchen was the best place to start with.

Back in the attic, candlelight flickered before it disappeared completely, cold wind killing the flame, plunging the room in complete darkness, moonlight never reaching the windowless room. Only the faded brass shines amidst the darkness, as wandering souls fleeted around in their endless gowns of whites.

That night, before Lucia went to sleep, with his father beside him in a shared camping bed, he complained loudly of the cold wind and the dark aura never leaving the insides of their new house. When his father only snored in response, Lucia knew it would definitely take more than the usual to consider this place as a new home.

* * *

Lucia woke to the smell of fried eggs and toast breads, fresh strawberry jam seducing him out of the sleeping bag and into the kitchen just a door away. With the house barely cleaned, father and son decided it was best for them to sleep first in the living room in their sleeping bags and not on dirty mattresses nested by dust bunnies and wandering spiders or other bugs.

After fixing the sleeping bags, he put on his shoes before heading for the kitchen. He was blasted head-on by the smell of waffles and pancakes, maple syrup and some berry jams mixed together in a huge mass of weird concoctions. Lucia lost his appetite in an instant, and guessed it wouldn't return anymore when King greeted him a 'Good Morning' in a 'Kiss the Cook' apron.

"I made some blueberry waffles for you, kid! Better eat it while it's hot. I also made some toasts and eggs, in case you'll like some extra cholesterol and calories."

Lucia ignored whatever words that came next. He had learned it since child that a happy, breakfast-making father is the only thing any son in the world can't stomach, even if said son is the world's strongest gangster. When Lucia sat with his back turned on his father, it was for extra safety measures.

After some silence of Lucia munching his waffle and King washing the pans, the younger blonde stared at the city of cobwebs and spiders on a corner of the ceiling.

"Dad, do you think we should hire some cleaning people to help us out?"

"That'll put a dent on our savings, kid."

"Yeah, but it'll speed up the cleaning process. They have a huge ant _mountain _here."

King clucked his tongue, sitting down in front of Lucia who's still staring at the gathered cobwebs.

"I bought some anti-bug body suits back in the hardware store, so don't worry much. In case anything happens, we have a ton of aspirins and bug repellant spray. Pesticides too, so stop worrying."

Conversation ended with King taking away the rest of the dishes. Lucia didn't pay to wonder how his father can eat so fast. Instead, he stops watching the spiders and focused on a rather huge black dot staining the varnished, wooden table. Lucia called or his father again.

"Dad, don't you think we should go and give back this house? I really think we should just go for an apartment."

"Don't be stupid, kid," Both father and son stared at each other, the older blonde frowning as the younger one tried to show his unease through facial expressions. This time, King decided to ignore sentimentality for the sake of logic. "We've paid millions of Edel on this. I know it's too big for just the two of us, that's why I've decided to turned half of it into a hotel. Or dorm, whichever sounds better."

Lucia only frowned at this. He didn't argue any further though, and left it to his father to do whatever he wants with the house. Lucia wanted nothing more than a roof over his head with a solid ground below the soles of his feet. And warmth. That's the number one thing his body would always yearn for.

After breakfast, father and son decided to wander around the mansion separately. King went for basement, something about looking for more candles and generators while Lucia decided he'll prefer to bask in the sun while it's still up. So, he went for the garden. He would have thoroughly enjoyed the morning, if only the view isn't so obscured by wild, untamed vines that insisted on clinging to every inch of his body.

After a few minutes of braving crawling floras and evading aerial fecal bombs, Lucia finally arrived in what used to be a garden. A wall of thick plants and intertwined vines surrounded the garden in a circle as a pathway made of solid earth stretched out in front of him, dividing in the middle before stretching even further, on to left and the other to right before it met again on the other side in a circle. In its center is a huge, previously grand fountain made of rock, now cracked with age with moss and vines creeping from the insides.

Although every flower around him is vibrant, made of the sweetest color and emits the sweetest smell, it was the fountain, the _figure_ of the fountain that caught Lucia's breath, leaving him standing before it in a stupefied manner.

It is, in a way, breathlessly beautiful beyond comprehensible belief.

Circling the fountain in slow, steady steps, Lucia stared at it, eyes raking over the carved figure in awe, absorbing every detail to mind. He pretended no cracks existed, that there's still clear freshwater pouring out from the vase with intricate spiral designs, that there is no broken or chipped feathers on the wings. He also pretended that age hadn't crept up on the stone figure, its angelic, probably porcelain-white cheeks now stained dark and charred. Bringing his eyes down, Lucia imagined the billowing flow of its dress, pure, virginal white folds fluttering with the wind as snow white feet dipped on the clear freshwater.

Lucia had never felt so awed from watching a still, stone figure of an angel worn by time and wilderness. As he was about to lay a hand on the cold stone front, somewhere on the still folds of the angel's dress, his ears picked up the sound of bushes shuffling loudly, twigs crunching under heavy weight before—

"OOF!"

"MEOWR!"

A pair of paws smacked itself against Lucia's eyes, sending the boy crying out loud, his own hands trying to pry the paws away. Wrong move though, as said paws suddenly released its deadly claws, scratching his tender skin bleeding red.

"ACK! GET OFF OF ME!"

"MEOWR!"

Another scream and a flurry of claws and tail before Lucia fell to the soft ground, mud staining his orange shirt brown. Happy with its victory, the feline previously wrestling him on his head jumped down and landed on his chest, staring him down with burning green eyes, as if daring Lucia to fight back.

Lucia wouldn't have cared if he'll be maiming a cat (after getting his face sliced to ribbons, he wouldn't even bother feeling guilty for killing an innocent cat) or at least kick it across the garden, sending the feline through some broken window and down into the sewer. If only the scratch wounds didn't sting so much, Lucia would have enacted revenge against the wild Maine Coon bristling its fur at him.

Bringing his head up while covering the three pairs of vertical slashes across both sides of his cheeks, Lucia mustered his best and deadliest glare _ever_. Then again, he's going against a _wild_ Maine Coon, a really large cat that had just _sliced_ his face. Lucia doubted raising a hand against this cat is wise.

"What the hell is your problem, damn cat?!"

Maine Coons are considered to have intelligence above the norm, so he guessed the animal might be able to understand him. Even if it might not be able to understand proper English, it'll probably understand the point Lucia's trying to point.

"Seriously! Jumping at people's head like that! I ain't a ball or some stress reliever!"

Lucia had the distinct feeling that if his father starts hearing him ranting at a cat, who didn't move from its spot, glaring harder while whishing its tail side to side, Lucia would never hear the end of it. But Lucia didn't care at the moment, since he's more bothered on how to get the cat off of him. It's freaking _heavy_, and it's getting hard for him to breathe when there's a 15 pound of catbones and catflesh, not to mention very hairy (Lucia has to admit though, it's cutely fluffy) tail curling rather threateningly on his thigh.

When Lucia tried to sit up straight, hands pushing himself up, the cat 'Nyah'-ed at him before leaving his chest and instead sat on the patch of grass beside the boy. Lucia only stared at the cat with a pout, as if asking it what its problem really is while rubbing the stinging on his cheeks away.

Sighing, he stood up and turned for the trail he had come from, sparing the angel statue a last glance. But when he felt the tug of the cat, pawing at his knees (it seriously _is_ a _huge_ cat) with a sad, kicked look (Lucia wondered again if this cat is the same cat that had nearly killed him), Lucia suddenly felt like picking the cat up and cradling it into his arms, gushing over it andandand—

"You are one annoying, hopeless feline—OW!"

A scratch on a bare leg is enough to send Lucia hissing and limping his way home, cat (who Lucia decided to call Katzchen, although it completely betrays the entire features of the cat) leading him back to the mansion. Lucia even asked himself why he wore board shorts, only to answer himself that it's hot, it's summer, and it's so hot he believes even his lower body needs ventilation.

By the time Lucia was back at the mansion, King was already in the porch with heaps upon heaps of old, ruined and useless stuffs his father probably found in the basement. He then also noted the moth-eaten couch previously taking the space of the living room thrown to the side.

"Hey, dad."

"Oi! You're back! How's the—Oh dear lord."

Lucia pouted, his eyes narrowing as the cat, Katzchen, did the same on King. The rest of whatever King is going to say got lost in the wind as King laughed weakly, scratching the back of his head. The sudden twitch of the feline's tail advised King it's wiser not to question its presence and probably, its stay with the two Leagroves.

An hour later, a large delivery truck arrived and the two, along with the help of the delivery man, started throwing the broken pieces of furniture into the back of the truck. After they're done, they watched the truck leave the manor ground, tires leaving a pair of tracks behind. King then noted to himself to put cement on the trail.

Behind them, Katzchen purred loudly and scratched the back of his ear. The two Leagroves turned their heads and stared at the cat. There has got to be something they could do to get rid of it. There has to be.

Sharp green eyes pierced at them directly, and when they both met Katzchen's deadly gaze, the father and son fell quiet and decided that it might actually be a better idea to have the cat around.

At least they now have a new company, even if it comes in a mane of striped black and other colors with the deadliest, most piercing and sharpest green eyes ever. Nothing could go wrong, right?

* * *

_"Eh, Blue is back…"_

A gust of wind entered the empty room, a window pane cracking as frost began to gather on the corners.

_"Didya get it?"_

A wardrobe door opened and closed with a soft thud, a black kettle rolling down onto and across the floor. It stopped as it rested against a leg of a desk.

_"The damn guardian got me."_

A dry inkwell on the desk shook, as the quill's feathers inside it bristled suddenly.

_"Heh. Tough luck, Blue."_

A clothe fell down from its perch on a standing mirror, revealing the reflection of a destroyed bed, springs protruding from the torn mattress.

_"Leave him alone, Red. Guardian's smarter now."_

One of the bed's four wooden posters snapped, old wood breaking, sending the canopy falling on the ruined bed.

_"Ushishishi… We'll get him next time."_

The mirror's faded glass shattered as the cold gust of wind threw the windows off their hinges, sending shattered glasses flying across the room. Laughter left the room as the specters wandered off, going back to their own room.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. 2: Down and Dirty

**Title: **Isle Fractions  
**Fandom:** Rave  
**Disclaimer: **Umi-chii still can't make Hiro Mashima sell Rave.  
**Author's Notes:** I'm back to writing this after I went through schyra's post of her old, unfinished Rave arts. lol That somehow reminded me of these fics, and soon, I'm back into writing Isle Fractions. It's been nearly 2 years since I last wrote for Isle Fractions, the last date being May 2007. …Wow.

By the way, there's a collaborated version of this with schyra titled Whispers, though I think it's the only first chapter (hence the similarities).

* * *

_**2. Down and Dirty**_

With all of the broken furniture gone, the house felt emptier than it previously was. The moth-eaten couch was gone, nearly all of the beds were gone as well, and more than half of the mansion's chairs were given away. The only wooden furniture left were tables and desks, and the white grand piano on the grand staircase's second flooring that, strangely enough, was the only well-kept furniture in the house.

The owners must've loved it, Lucia thought, when he found the musical instrument as the only thing covered with a cloth.

"Hey, dad!" He called over his shoulder. His blond hair was tied up with an elastic band, its color matching his dark red shirt and military green cargo shorts. "What're we going to do with this piano?"

Half a floor under him, King grunted at the sudden loss of proper footing, the weight of a new couch heavy behind his back.

"Dad!"

"Shut up, you brat! Help me here!"

"This is why I said we just hire some help." He muttered as he stomped down the wooden stairs. They had removed its red carpet and discarded it almost immediately when they found most of its edges tattered.

_Creak._

He paused, right foot just hovering on the third step from the bottom. Slowly, he set the foot down next to his left foot, staring at the wooden board, his black sneakers looking like two huge stationary rats. With the same slowness, he raised himself to a step, before stepping back down onto that creaking floorboard.

There was no sound.

His breath hitched, and hitched even higher when he repeated his steps over that certain board, from above then from below.

What the hell…

"Oi, Lucia! We're not playing hopscotch here!"

"Dad… did you check the stairs?"

"Yeah, I did," his eyes didn't leave the board as his feet remained planted on it. "I actually had some of those chemical injected onto it. The entire thing's hollow in the inside. Those termites ate everything, and am 'fraid there might be some more pests living inside. The Insectiminator will be coming back tomorrow though, so don't worry."

But it's odd. The sudden sound…

Or maybe he's just tired and sleepy that his mind started doing this weird shizkaboo on him. Yeah, maybe that.

"Dad, it's seriously late. Aren't you done yet?"

"Hold it, kid. Gonna finish fixing this couch here…"

Lucia frowned at his father, who's busy finding the right angle for the couch. Grumbling, he stormed down the stairs, ears mindful of any sound it'll make.

_Creak_.

This time he whirled around as he landed on the bottom step, the board stretched elaborately with carvings on its side. He put his heel on the bottom step before laying the rest of his foot over it. Then he stomped hard on the step, hard and loud enough to earn another 'Oi!' from his father.

"What the hell are you doing, brat? Don't go breaking those stairs! I just had them fixed!"

"But they're not," Lucia wanted to say. But he didn't, not when his eyes were darting back and forth from one step to another, until finally, it reached the white grand piano on the second flooring. It sat there with its outer rim propped up. His father thought it'll look somewhat 'cool' to have the outer rim opened. He hadn't thought it'll only collect more dusts that way. Or that it'll creep Lucia out more than it had when covered.

Ten minutes later, after more arguing and exchanging of insults, father and son finally righted the couch's angle, tilted 45 degrees facing the left staircase.

"Now we can finally go to sleep!" King exclaimed, grinning triumphantly at the couch. Lucia could only let a cheek twitch violently, because one, _that_ was the very first angle they tried before the arguments started, and two, he's _tired_. He had been roaming the garden and marking out the places he had to tend, not to mention he had been manhandled nearly for the entire day by a large wild cat.

Now that he thought of it, where the hell did that cat run off to?

"Hey, dad," He asked, turning away from the couch as he surveyed the large living hall. "Where's Katzchen?"

"The cat?"

"Yeah…"

King shrugged, wiping off the sweat on his brows. "Haven't seen that big cat. By the way, I've cleaned the first two bedrooms in the west wing. You go and have your sleep first. I'll just put away these stuffs." He heard his father said behind him.

"Alright. Night, dad."

"Night, kiddo."

He took the right side of the staircase, dragging his feet purposely over the fourth step, waiting for that creaking sound. He wasn't surprised when there was barely a sound other than the heavy rubber soles of his sneakers on wood.

Maybe it really was just him, he mused. Maybe it's just the time and the fatigue combined, not to mention the eerie aura the grand piano imposes from the second flooring.

Reaching the second flooring, he took another flight of stairs stretching to the left and straight to the west wing, leading to a hall of doors on both sides, all of them bedrooms. Most of them had double doors with brass doorknobs, a large ornately framed painting hanging above a small wooden table, some still with vases while others were left with nothing but an old table cloth, between each pair of doors on the right side.

"Whoever used to live here must be real lookers," King had said earlier this afternoon when he was helping his father put in a new mattress onto the new double-sized bed. And now that he paused to stare at the painting between his room and his dad's, he realized his father was right.

The painting was that of a tall, haughty looking man with broad shoulders, ashen blond hair combed back as eyes so stern and almost grey (honestly though, he couldn't tell. The painting was so old and had already faded on some spots) stared hard at the painter, a large hand resting on the head of a plush couch that must've been vibrant red in color. Sitting there on the couch was a woman with almond-shaped eyes and a quirked smile, wavy blond hair styled into a beehive, wearing the typical fluffy ballroom dresses of the 18h century. On her feet was…

"A crocodile?!" Lucia spluttered, eyes widening at the creature on the painting. Yep, a crocodile all right.

"Crocodile where?!" Someone behind him suddenly yelled.

King was some few steps behind him, fussing around the hallway with curses and threats.

"Dad, it's in the painting. Not on the floor," Lucia said, pointing at the mentioned painting. "And I don't think there'll be crocodiles tonight, not after Maine Coon attack."

The elder Leagrove stood next to his son as he stared up at the painting, whistling beneath his moustache when his eyes found the crocodile.

"A real looker, I say." King muttered.

Stepping away, Lucia went for the door to his left, leaving the first room for his father.

_Creak._

He froze, hand inches away from the doorknob. His eyes shot straight towards the wooden floor under his sneakers. He could sense a repeat of his previous experience at the staircase.

"Dad, the floor just creaked." He called for his father, eyes not leaving the plank. He stood there, waiting for his father's reply, until nothing but silence answered him. Blinking, he turned his head and stared at his father. Or rather, the space his father should be occupying.

"Dad?" He called out hesitantly, and waited. Again, nothing but empty air. "Dad, this isn't funny!" He called out again, this time louder as he walked away from the door. He could feel it—his heart, the erratic beating, the sudden increase of his breathing rate. "Dad! Don't joke around like this!" He yelled at the empty hallway until he arrived back at the grand staircase.

Then he stared some more at the large main hall before him, jaw slacking off. And then he screamed.

"Oi! Kiddo!"

He ran and he ran back into the hallway, deeper into the hallway, past grinning paintings and stretching shadows beneath his shoes.

"Damn it, Lucia! Wake up!"

Someone was shaking him, he could feel it, that violently jerk of his head, back and forth, left and right, shaking him so hard as if there's naught a bone in him or trying to break through gravity alone.

"Lucia! _Wake up_!"

_"Back"_

He heard it, that hissing whisper next to his ear. He batted at it, as if it's there, occupying solid space.

_"Back"_

He heard it again, this time longer and more snake-like. And then he felt it—that cold lick of air on his cheek, just inches away from his earlobe. And then he slipped and he sprung forward, hand grabbing empty air as he stared at his father's worried face, eyes the same golden shade of his wide in fear and concern. He nearly choked on his own breath when he saw his reflection in his father's eyes; his trademark scar, his wide eyes and his pale face, he could see all of them in his father's eyes.

"What the hell is the matter with you?! Asking for sleep then suddenly screaming and frying the shit out of me!"

A dream... it was all… a dream?

"Dream…" He whispered aloud. "A dream." He repeated some more, as if convincing himself. But it felt so… _real _yet so unnatural at the same time… "The painting."

"The what?"

"The painting," King was looking at him worriedly, that rare 'father' look he only gives when he's seriously concerned. "There was a painting, on the hallway, west wing, next to my room…"

"That painting? It's gone now, don't you remember? You even helped me remove it for the auctioneer."

His head shot up instantly at his father's words. They… sold the painting?

"Well, not really... Actually, sort of, since the auctioneer paid us for that painting and he's gonna sell it tomorrow for a bigger wad of cash—"

"We have to get that painting back!" He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, but he was sure of it. He was really sure of it, that that painting wasn't meant for another house, and that painting wasn't meant to leave this house. That painting was meant for that huge empty space outside his room, and he didn't even know why he was fussing over that painting when he could've bought a better, livelier and less gloomy painting. But he knew he wasn't fooling himself when he felt that sudden jump of his heart, that sudden skip of a beat; something bad would happen if that painting went missing.

"What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who said it's a good idea to sell it for the local auction!"

"I changed my mind!" He had to get it back. He has to get it back! "We have to get it back, dad! Now!" He yelled as he leaped off the couch, grabbing his jacket hanging over the couch before dashing out of the house.

"Hold it! It's minutes till midnight! Road's closed and town is dead, kiddo!"

"I don't care! I have to get that painting back!" He yelled over his shoulder as he don on his jacket, practically jumping over the porch's steps and into the muddy tracks, leaving imprints of his sneakers' soles.

"Lucia! You don't even know where the auctioneer lives!"

"Then I'll just find my way around." He told himself as he pushed the rusty front gates open and ran straight into the dark forest.

He must've been mad to suddenly run out of the house just to get a painting back dead in the middle of the night. And when asked, ten years later, he must've been possessed to go that far.

* * *

_"I feel lonely, love…"_

Doryu suddenly stared at his candelabra. He blinked at the candle, at its fire. It had flickered. He hadn't mistaken it. And he's not mistaken at all to know that candlelit fires aren't meant to flicker when there's barely a soft night breeze nor a blow of a breath in the room. There's barely a sign of life in the room, in fact, other than his soft but nearly dead breathing.

_"I, too, my love…"_

There. The fire flickered again. The dark-skinned auctioneer quickly stood up from his seat, leaving his quill perched on the ink well before he walked away from his desk to check on his window.

_"I want to go back home…"_

It's locked. His windows were locked, shut real tight. It's impossible for the tiniest gust of wind to enter the room.

_"So many times, we've been separated…"_

He grabbed the curtain and pulled it close. At least when there's an escape of wind, he would know from the shifting shadows on his wall. Calmly, he returned to his work, sitting down on the wooden chair, fingers gripping the quill gently again.

Just as he's about to sign the contract, the ink well burst, and soon, there was nothing but ink all over the table and the contract and on his hands, some even reaching his monocle. Swearing loudly, he threw the quill onto the floor and was going to dab the ink stain on his vest with a handkerchief until he saw the painting he had sold to Don Ruby.

"Mr. Doryu!"

Slowly, he inched towards it, hand absently still dabbing himself. That painting wasn't supposed to be here anymore. Don Ruby had come to pick it up hours ago, right after he paid his payment.

"Mr. Doryu! Please open the door! I need to talk to you!"

He ignored the incessant banging on his front door as his eyes attached to the painting, at the pair of reptilian eyes mesmerizing him, pulling him—

The door slammed open and Lucia barged into the house, a huffing and panting King five steps behind him.

"What the fuck—"

"Mr. Doryu!"

* * *

_"That was very uneventful."_

_"Was it? I found it entertaining."_

The piano played a soft melody as the hammers struck and the strings stretched.

_"Tell me, Blue. What were you hoping for?"_

A loud boom sounded in the main hall, the sound as loud as an explosion. The staircase's wooden floor shook as the strings vibrated violently, the chandelier shaking from the resonance.

_"I was hoping for something more exquisite."_

**TBC**


End file.
